Wonder Web

 

Most of my family’s outdoor walking or hiking in Kenya is limited to well known paths and pre-selected locations in the highly visible savannah. After all, with animals that can eat you running around looking for lunch, adventuring off the beaten track is not very wise. Arriving at my parents’s house in the Midwest I saw the opportunity to help my boys see a different kind of trekking and a different kind of nature.

Finding a wooded trail along the bluffs of the Mississippi River we set out for a short adventure. It wasn’t long before all three boys kept insisting that I walk first. After making sure they knew that a deer would not jump out and eat them, I led the way. It wasn’t long before I realized why.

I kept running into a slightly sticky strand of spider web. If you’ve been through a forest trail you can appreciate the situation. You’re out there enjoying the scenery and seeing life as created by God and all of a sudden, Bam! A line of web is pressing against your face. If it had been the whole web of course it would have been noticed before walking into it, but since it is merely a strand of silky entrapment, it blended into the environment perfectly without detection. It’s not enough to destroy the day, but as you step back to peel the lone clinging line from your face, it can lead to two main questions. The first being, why could I not see this before I ran into it. The second, and perhaps more pressing question, just where is the spider now?

Now, having scraped the webs from my beard, I am alone in reflection as I more cautiously move forward through webs of deceit embedded into an environment of Truth.

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” —Jesus (John 14: 6)

Such a Time

Here we are. Enclosed by an invisible force wrecking havoc upon the mind and challenging the heart. An enemy floating within and without our walls. Replacing our vibrant lives with colorless fear all while stripping away our individual and collective dignity. We find ourselves fenced in, “for such a time as this.”

It’s an interesting call to action, “for such a time as this”*, but what is this phrase really calling us to do? Originally it was stated in a scolding manner to a young woman. She was being challenged by her uncle to take into consideration all that lay beyond herself. Her location and position in society were called into question by having her reflect on what it truly is that she is called to do. Esther’s uncle was reminding her that she was chosen to set aside her self interests and step up to face uncertainty and a looming enemy head on. She didn’t create her circumstances. She didn’t desire to be involved. She didn’t even think she could make a difference. But Esther realized she was part of a much larger story line and knew that as a follower of the one true God, she had been created and given the voice for such a time as this.

The oppressive beast of today may look different from what Esther faced, but it stems from the same brokenness of humanity. And so we are still left to ask ourselves, “What have we been called for?” It’s a good question, but it’s also a hard question. It’s easy to be a follower of something when all is well, but what about when life is full of uncertainties and revulsion? What about when monstrous systemic viruses rear their ugly head?

As a follower of the one true God, there is little option of what we must do. We may not be the final voice that slays the beast, but we are all called to speak out in truth as we do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.** And we are called to this action, for such a time as this.

 

* Esther 4:14

**Micah 6:8

 

Hope in You

You came in to a world that chose to ignore you and despise

A world choosing self, believing lies, and refusing to give you even a tithe

Yet you looked right through us and saw our brokenness, and we saw compassion in your eyes.

You left it all and came when we did not deserve

We fought over worldly status, but you abandoned your throne and came to serve

I don’t deserve your service, but somehow still I have the nerve to live a life of self-service

You claimed to be the I AM and then,

You walked on water, went to hell and came back again

I was alone in the desert of night, wasting away, thirst cutting my soul like a knife

You came to me, my light, my living water, bringing me out of death to life.

I aimed to follow you; yet my intentions were thin, full of meaningless attempts to cover up my sin

I heard you calling out to me, telling me of hope from above

And I again turned from you, hiding among the rocks of despair, but still hungry, desperate, and craving for your love.

You came to me, like a dove from heaven, saying you were the door and the only way in.

You took my shame, took my pain, took my sinful name-replaced it with your name, and said I am enough.

You Resuscitated me. Rejuvenated me. I’m Rescued and Resurrected. You brought me back to life. You are the only way, the only truth, and the true meaning to life.

Save Us

“I am a rock. I am an island. And a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries.”*

My home culture encourages the, go it alone mentality claiming strength from self. We sing praises to the stoic one who stands alone. The lone underdog who with his own strength and power, overcomes everything to find triumph and victory from his own doing. While not self created, he is self saved. Coupled with this belief is the cultural notion that it is the male that has traditionally been promoted as the one to stand tall in the face of adversity, overcoming all to provide for friend and family. Songs sung of individual greatness. Folktales feeding the fables of the one man show. The Western movies I consumed, or the Rambo characters I portrayed myself as may have left me with a view of myself that may not be entirely true.

It’s never been a simple thing for me to ask for help. I would so much like to point to my home culture for this, however, if anything is to blame for this trait I suppose it would be my pride. So when 3 out of 5 of my family developed pneumonia it was not something to easily power through and fix myself. As strong as my pride is, it was not capable of saving us. Self survival was no longer an option. And that’s when Community stepped in.

Community nourishes in sickness.

Community accepts and carries each other burdens.

Community enriches.

Community builds up in spirit.

Community sustains.

Community loves unconditionally.

It is our pride that screams out, “I am enough.” But honestly, deep down, we know we are not self-sustaining. In pride we claim, “I am my own god!” Yet, throughout humanity it has never been proven that we can be our own god and find life. We simply can not save ourselves. We need Community.

A community that is bound together three in one. A community that takes us as we are and gives us hope. A hope that is not fleeting or drifting on the whims and fads of life, but a hope that is based upon a solid foundation of unconditional love. A community that hangs our transgressions on a cross, yet bookends the deal with an empty tomb. In this community, and this community alone, we find that we not only have life but life in abundance. Through this community alone, we can be saved.

 

 

• I Am a Rock by Simon and Garfunkle

Place of Peace

“I’ve been through the wasteland and it’s only a mile ago from here.“*

Recently I had the opportunity to leave home behind and venture southwest of Nairobi into land traditionally inhabited by Maasai. It is a short distance yet one that can feel of complete isolation. Given the increase of temperatures, dryness, and a myriad of cattle and other obstacles encountered along the rugged road, the journey can be intense. It’s a road of personalized specific location, yet one we all travel.

“And now it’s a memory, but it’s only a smile ago from here.”*

After traveling the path of pitfalls and potholes a slight incline in the road suddenly clears opening up into what at first appears to be a dusty little civilization. At first glance the tiny red particles clinging to all living things give the illusion of decay, however, upon clearing the vision, a broken down sign reading Kiserian can be seen.

Kiserian in Maasai language means “place of peace.”

Living in the desert is not so much about living independently as it is about learning dependency. A journey to learn dependency upon a life sustaining source.

Treks into dryness can be full of extreme hardships. The desert, with its abrasive and biting methods, has a way of humbling and stripping away at our core. Showing our perceived strengths as the mirages they truly are. A sojourner in barren lands seeks rest, life giving water, and ultimately a place of peace.

The journey is often one of extreme hardships, but in learning dependency upon a life sustaining source, it is not a journey of waste leading to death. Perhaps this was in part why the Israelites needed to spend so long in the desert. They stood on their metaphorical mountain top having seen the the awesomeness of God yet still seemed to miss the deeper more personal connection He offered. Mountain top experiences are truly uplifting and inspiring but many times it’s in the shadowed valleys of dryness and isolation where deeper dependency and growth are learned.

Whether or not we’re on top of a mountain or huddled in the valley of shadows, the place of peace is near. It’s only a mile or so away. Our lasting Kiserian journeys to a tree and exits an empty cave.

“Lead me to the cross
Where Your love poured out
Bring me to my knees
Lord I lay me down
Rid me of myself
I belong to You
Lead me, lead me to the cross”**

*Wasteland by Dakota Motor Company

** Lead Me to the Cross by Hillsong United

 

 

Bread Breaking

Himbasha, or ambasha depending on your region of Ethiopia and Eritrea, is a slightly sweet bread of celebration.

 

I recently learned the process of making Ethiopian himbasha. On the surface it’s fairly straightforward. A sprinkling of salt here, a good amount of cardamom there, a round pan to help it take shape. As is the case with so many things of celebratory nature, spending time in preparation is not the primary aim. Celebrations can be complex and intricately woven with tradition and nuances, but at their heart they all share one common goal.

In reality, regular interaction with this bread breaking celebration is a must in order to grasp the significance of the event. One of the details that often surrounds the Ethiopian sweet bread is a three round coffee ceremony with burning frankincense to enhance the senses. Celebrations such as this continue repeatedly, strengthening appreciation and the depth of the relationship.

My neighbor has just begun the physical parenting part of motherhood. While she and her daughter are currently in Ethiopia, most likely partaking in breaking himbasha together, the whole notion of breaking bread has risen to the surface of my consciousness. I am relearning the value of relationships and the bond that deepens when one spends hours in close quarters over bread.

Prior to years of living overseas if you were to tell me that I would one day spend hours partaking in a little bread and a cup of coffee or tea, thoughts of torture and wasting time would come to mind. In fact my first year living in a different country brought me nothing but frustration when an incredibly small cup of green cha and little sweet breads were brought out when I would gather with coworkers. My mind screamed of the list of things needing to be done. The constant glance to the clock, the rearranging of pre-made plans in my head, and the much too often desire to flee and do my own thing clouded my understanding. In fact I mentally rebelled so much at what seemed to be a lack of inaction that I was blinded to what I was suppose to be learning. Breaking bread with one another is not about the bread.

 

Breaking bread is about fellowship. Community. It is developing, cultivating, and strengthening a relationship.

Waking

“Looking through rose-colored stained glass windows, Never allowing the world to come in………..so dim.”*

Sharp stabbing pain followed by a flooding of color into my dark world.

“Papa. I want your eyes.”

Immediate tears washed my cheek before coherence collided with my senses.

“Papa. I want your eyes.”

A sticky little thumb and finger reached towards my right eye, in an attempt to pluck it out. Sitting straight up in bed with eyes wide open I see the events as they are truly unfolding. A son’s sincere desire to see through his father’s eyes.

May my own desired vision be mirrored in his eyes.

“Give me Your eyes for just one second
Give me Your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me Your love for humanity
Give me Your arms for the broken-hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach
Give me Your heart for the ones forgotten
Give me Your eyes so I can see”**

 

*Rose Colored Stained Glass Windows by Petra

** Give me your eyes by Brandon Heath

 

 

Don’t Put Stickers On The Cat

 

Do you ever see what you’re saying? I mean really stop and soak in the things that come out of your mouth, then pause and reflect upon what you’ve just said? I’m not entirely sure what this communicates about myself, however in the past week I’ve heard unusual phrases uttered, such as “Don’t put stickers on the cat.” bursting forth from my mouth. It seems common sense to me that one should not put sticky adhesive things all over a hairy creature, yet those were the words I heard myself say. I can concede that curiosity was the motivating force behind the sticker scenario, but what about this phrase?

“Don’t jump on your brother’s head.”

And how many times must it be said before the message is understood? Apparently, my attempts to leave a lasting impression are not readily grasped. Ok, I’ll admit, the jumping was probably more about curiosity again. Or perhaps, “Don’t put the diaper pail on your head. It’s not a helmet.” Or “Don’t stretch out your brother’s underwear. Get it off your head.”  Or “Don’t put the lollipop back in your mouth.” after it fell sticky side down in the ant infested dust. And then there’s yesterday’s fun little exchange, “Don’t talk about poop in public.” Michael’s retort, in much too loud of a voice was, “But Papa. You’re talking about poop right now.” We were standing in the middle of the grocery store with a plethora of people around us watching out of either curiosity or some strange sense of humor. Or both.

As I hear what I’m saying, I see what I’m communicating. Naturally, my intentions are to instruct and keep the house from falling apart, but I’m not sure my intentions are as visible as I think. Of course if one should fail to notice a pattern there is always evidence of the sickening realization that the message was misinterpreted when you hear your own words boomerang upon you or others.

“Joshua. The Bible says to listen to your elders. I’m your elder. So don’t move around so much. And don’t take my pillow. And don’t keep pulling the blanket.”

See the theme? At least Michael got a little rationale woven into the message, right? He took the theme “Don’t” that I provided, and polished it with a little biblical wording. Given his tone and delivery I find it hard to believe that he was truly trying to better his brother with instruction on the proper way to go to sleep. Furthermore, I seriously doubt the two-year old learned anything other than “don’t” from that little interaction. All the right wording does nothing to change the motives that lie underneath the surface.

“But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this defiles a person.” Matthew 15:18

“Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” Psalm 51:10

Lessons Revisited

 

“Lesson one: Do not hide.”*

Kuja! Kuja hapa! Kuuujaaa!! Come here!  And there he goes again. Out the gate and down the lane. Seeing me coming he ducked beside the bushes, almost crouching, humorously hiding. His bright orange shirt contrasting clearly with the green foliage around him. As he peered out to see if I was watching him we made eye contact and made clear the fact that he could not truly hide from me. Yet he crouched down again with delusional notions of hiding from his father.

We hide in shame, fear, and disobedience. We hide to escape the inevitable. Yet we can not hide.

Lesson two: There are right ways to fight. And if you have questions we can talk through the night”*

“But Papa. He wasn’t listening to my idea. And I don’t want to do what he says. So that’s why I hit him.”

When in doubt, aggression. When insecure, aggression. When not in control, aggression. Not necessarily the best response to things, but sadly enough one that is all too common. Lashing out rarely is the right response.

“Lesson three: You’re not alone.”*

Sitting on the single step in our house with my oldest listening as he tells me how no one will listen to him. His plight is one of despair and is dripping in sorrow at his perceived loneliness. Although so many are around him, even talking to him with invitations of companionship, he is lost in himself and feels alone.

There truly is nothing new under the sun. Did not Adam try to hide? or Jacob wrestle? or David feel all alone? So while my boys are learning basic lessons that are not new to humanity, these lessons seem to be ones we all need to revisit from time to time. To attempt to hide from an omniscient one, or have the gall to wrestle with an omnipotent one, or claim isolation in the presence of the omnipresent one is clearly missing the big picture. Wasn’t there something about not seeing a forest due to all the trees?  Perhaps it is the focal point within these lessons. Maybe, just maybe, the view should not be directed at oneself at all.

“Just remember, lesson one.”*

 

* Italicized lyrics from Boys (Lesson One) by Jars of Clay

To Follow

 

Benjamin read the sign and questioned whether or not this was wise but after being assured by the guide, he followed. What once was beautiful green grass had turned to a dirty brown path from all the followers.

Some of us have been taught to disregard established signs and encouraged to make our own paths. Others of us are taught to always obey them in spite of personal thoughts that may differ. Still others are taught to differentiate, going back and forth, based on an intricate internal system of ethics. And each of us grows up thinking the way of life around us is normal.

I’m sure the migratory creatures of the world never question why they are compelled to propel themselves in front of the waiting crocodile. Going with the herd often feels wisest regardless of where they are going. Sometimes following for the sake of following is not right. Although the boys are growing up in a transitional tribe where normal is a mix of locations, cultures, and the typical state or condition of things is as solid as liquid, they are not blind followers. Like crossing zebra and wildebeest they do not question the moments of chaos and obstacles that may arise in their path. Chaos and obstacles are normal. However, unlike the seemingly blind migratory creatures, we can question to make sure we are not flinging ourselves in front of metaphorical crocodiles. Even so, being a follower can be costly.

Following through life’s rapids, magically appearing obstacles, and plummeting waterfalls are never fun. However, all are navigable with the right guide. When you know you’re following a purpose and headed in the right direction the departures and river crossings of life are merely normal. And as hard as it is to step away from the herd mentality, it can be done.

It’s been said that a smooth stone has endured many tumbles in order to be considered smooth. There are times when this is exactly how we feel our lives are developing. Our paths are naturally full of trials and obstacles, but it is in the chaos of the moment that our character stands to make the decision of which path to follow. Which guide we choose. The path may be narrow. The path may be wide. However, unlike the animal kingdom, we have a say in which path to follow. But without a purposeful end in sight it is nothing but a foray into the heart of darkness.